Dualistic
by ATwitchUpontheString
Summary: Harry Potter has built a careful mask for himself these past years. But it all comes crashing down when his darkest secret walks into the Great Hall one Halloween. Now he must race against bitter enemies to save not just his life, but the Wizarding World as well.
1. Prologue

**AN: Before I being, I would like to note that this story is not slash. None of my future stories will be.  
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**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J. and Warner Brothers. No infringement has been intended.  
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Prologue

Harry Potter did not like Halloweens.

On the whole, the holiday was pretty spectacular. He could not complain of the sweets flowing on the tables in the Great Hall, or the delicious feast that was currently waiting to be eaten. He would not deny that the festive attitude that permeated the castle was to be despised.

Harry and Halloweens never mixed. Never had.

His parents were murdered; a troll was sent loose and almost killed his best friend; the Chamber of Secrets was opened his innocent-but-escaped-from-Azkaban-convict godfather broke into the school; and just last year his name came out of the Goblet of Fire. For some reason, he just knew that this Halloween was bound to be bad.

Perhaps Voldemort would attack? Or Sirius would be caught by Dementors? Or maybe that horrid Umbridge woman would-

"What's wrong, Harry?"

Hermione Granger's voice broke through his thoughts of doom. Green eyes met brown and Harry gave a weak smile.

"Nothing."

Ron scoffed. "He's probably wondering what this Halloween will bring. Hopefully nothing too bad. Don't want you to get too maimed."

"Ron, be nice!" Hermione chided.

Harry rolled his eyes as the crowd hushed; Professor Dumbledore stood.

The man appeared agitated. His face was pale and his twinkling blue eyes swiped across the student body with much gravity. He looked right at Harry and only two words passed through the young wizard's head, "_Oh shit_."

"We live in a world where the impossible happens everyday. Magic fulfills the answer to nearly everything that we experience in this school and out in the world. However, we, witches and wizards, still do not have a firm grasp of what magic can do. Just recently I came face-to-face with an event that leaves me baffled."

By now students were shooting curious glances at each other and little pockets of whispers were heard. Harry was just trying to remain breathing.

"At the end of 1926, two boys, magical and identical twins were separated by magic's mysterious workings. The one was sent fifty-two years into the future, while the other remained in his proper place. They grew up, one not knowing of the others existence, and he more than likely never would. His brother, on the other hand, was searching.

"I am sure our own Weasley twins can vouch for me, magical twins are not meant to be separated by such a distance. They always find a way to be together. This here is the case."

_Oh no._ Harry closed his eyes, trying to keep his face calm. _This cannot be happening._

From out of the side room stepped a tall, dark haired handsome wizard of fifteen years.

Dressed in Slytherin robes, and with a pleasant smile on his face, dark eyes narrowed onto a glaring Harry.

Ginny Weasley had gone white with fear, while Ron and Hermione were quickly drawing the conclusions.

"Harry," she whispered to her friend. "Is that who I think it is?"

The wizard only nodded.

"Bastard."

If the situation were not so grave, her friend's would have chided the witch for her language.

_Breath, Harry. He's not going to do anything. Just breath. Talk to him later._

Dumbledore cleared his throat, blue eyes critically watching the boy. "May I introduce a student from the past who will be joining us here permanately: Tom Riddle."

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**So this is my first Fanfiction. Any constructive advice or criticism is appreciated. I should have the first chapter up soon.**


	2. Chapter 1

**AN: So Here is chapter one one Dualistic. Hopefully I will have chapter two up Monday.**

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Chapter 1

The hallway in number 12 Grimmauld Place was silent and dark. It reeked of magic, and seeped deep into Harry's skin, down to the bones, the moment he stepped over the threshold. It lapped at him, and clung to him, like the magic found a soul worthy to be lavished so.

It was not uncomfortable. Harry had expected the home of the Ancient and Noble House of Black to be filled with Dark Magic. It was. But it was nothing like the oppressive and magnificence of the Chamber. It tingled and washed over him; it did not threatened to take him over. It was like the House was respecting a superior. The Chamber crouched protectively, wanting to teach. The House was open, begging for Harry to bestow his gifts.

The fifteen year old wizard pushed the thought aside as Mrs. Weasley bustled forward.

"Oh, Harry, it's lovely to see you!" she whispered, pulling him into a rib-cracking hug before holding him at arm's length and examining him critically. He returned it gratefully. The plump ginger woman was Harry's mother in so many ways. It had been some time since he had seen her or his friends, and he was planning on milking every ounce of affection he could get from them. They had practically ignored him all summer.

"You're looking peaky; you need feeding up, but you'll have to wait a bit for dinner, I'm afraid."

Harry wanted to raise an eyebrow at the witch; still no chance for questions. Instead, he studied the other wizards and witches who accompanied him from Privet Drive exit the hall and head into what he supposed was the dining room. Voices filtered out, angry, harsh or excited.

"Ron and Hermione are upstairs," she continued, "you can wait with them until the meetings over, then we'll have dinner. And keep your voice down in the hall," she added in an urgent whisper.

"Why?"

"I don't want anything to wake up."

That made sense. Dark house equals dark things. He glanced around at the decaying hall, listening to the soft scutterings of rodents and perhaps something more sinister.

"What d'you -?"

"I'll explain later, I've got to hurry, I'm supposed to be at the meeting - I'll just show you where you're sleeping."

Pressing her finger to her lips, she led him on tiptoe past a pair of long, moth-eaten curtains, behind which Harry supposed there must be another door, and after skirting a large umbrella stand that looked as though it had been made from a severed troll's leg they started up the dark staircase.

"Mrs. Weasley, why -?"

"Ron and Hermione will explain everything, dear, I've really got to dash," Mrs. Weasley whispered distractedly. "There -" they had reached the second landing, "- you're the door on the right. I'll call you when it's over."

And she hurried off downstairs again.

Still left with no answers. Based upon the lack of information he gathered through letters, he had a feeling it was going to be a pattern. Harry crossed the dingy landing, turned the bedroom doorknob, which was shaped like a serpents head, and opened the door only to be accosted by Hermione Granger's mane of brown hair.

"Oh, Harry!" she cried out and pulled him into the room, closing the door firmly behind them. "I am so sorry for not writing! Professor Dumbledore didn't want the owls to be intercepted and he couldn't have vital information be found be either the Ministry or You-Know-Who. Please don't be mad! How was your summer? We've-"

"Whoa, Hermione! Slow down. I'm not mad," Harry interrupted. Technically speaking, he was miffed at the lack of contact, but he knew where the blame was to be placed. It did not belong on his friends' shoulders.

Hermione's faced morphed into one of astonishment.

"You're not?"

Harry merely laughed. "No." He turned to look at the other two occupants in the room. "Ron." He nodded at the tall ginger and they carefully hugged. "Ginny." The younger witch did not turn crimson,; she just shot him a shy smile and embraced him.

"Glad to have you here, mate," Ron said, settling in on one of the two twin beds in the room.

"So, care to fill me in on what I missed so far?"

The three exchanged glances.

Ginny cleared her throat. "Haven't you been reading the _Prophet_?"

Harry shook his head. "No. Once I realized they refused to report about Voldemort's return I ignored it." He ignored their flinches at the wizard's name.

"Well," Hermione began. "They aren't really reporting about You-Know-Who. They are however, uh, questioning your sanity as well as Dumbledore's."

The wizard stared at his friend, and she squirmed under his gaze. _Honestly, why am I not surprised. Fudge was insane._

"Alright. I gotta say, that is rather expected, coming from the Ministry."

A choking noise turned his attention towards Ron.

"You aren't angry?"

Harry gave a humorless laugh. "Oh, I am. But I can't really do anything about it, can I? Rita Skeeter anyone? Just look at last year. Anyways, what is with the whole 'hush-hush' and covert operations surrounding this... lovely house?"

"Ah, this is the headquarters for the Order of the Pheonix. It used to be Sirius Black's childhood home. He offered it to Professor Dumbledore for meetings and such. The Order was the Headmaster's organization during the first war with You-Know-Who-"

"And fought against the Death Eaters. I know, my parents were involved," Harry cut the girl off with a small smile. Before they could inquire on his knowledge, he plowed on. "So how many people are a part of it? Who is? I mean, besides Dumbledore, Lupin and your family. What have they been doing?"

Ron shook his head. "No idea. We aren't allowed in the meetings. Mum won't let us."

"Right. Is that all I've missed this summer?"

But before he could be answered, two loud 'CRACKs' filled the room and the Weasley twins stood at the foot of one of the beds.

"Harry!" the one began, moving forward to embrace the wizard.

"How good of you-"

"-to be here! We have missed you-"

"-so!"

Harry hated the twin-speak, but he did like the twins.

"Fred, George. Apparating license I see."

The two boys beamed.

"Stop doing that!" Hermione said weakly to the twins.

"Passed with distinction," said Fred, who was holding what looked like a piece of very long, flesh colored string.

"It would have taken you about thirty seconds longer to walk down the stairs," said Ron.

"Time is Galleons, little brother," said Fred. "Anyway, Harry, wanna listen in? Extendable Ears," he added in response to Harry's raised eyebrows, and held up the string which Harry now saw was trailing out on to the landing. "We're trying to hear what's going on downstairs."

"You want to be careful," said Ron, staring at the Ear, "if Mum sees one of them again…"

"It's worth the risk, that's a major meeting they're having," said Fred.

"About me?" Harry inquired. "Or Voldemort? What has he been up to anyways?"

"We've told you, the Order don't let us in on their meetings," said Hermione nervously. "So we don't know the details - but we've got a general idea," she added hastily, seeing the look on Harry's face.

"Extendable Ears, right. So, think we should listen in?"

"Of course," said George.

Ginny cleared her throat. "It's no-go with the Extendable Ears, she's gone and put an Imperturbable Charm on the kitchen door."

"How d'you know?" said George, looking crestfallen.

"Tonks told me how to find out," said Ginny. "You just chuck stuff at the door and if it can't make contact the door's been Imperturbed. I've been flicking Dungbombs at it from the top of the stairs and they just soar away from it, so there's no way the Extendable Ears will be able to get under the gap."

Harry bit his lip, pushing down the urge to explain that he could fix the door. But that would just reveal too much. Too many questions from Hermione. And Ron. And Molly would more than likely yell at him. Best play it safe.

Fred heaved a deep sigh.

"Shame. I really fancied finding out what old Snape's been up to."

"Snape!" said Harry quickly. "Is he here?"

"Yeah," said George, carefully closing the door and sitting down on one of the beds; Fred followed. "Giving a report. Top secret."

"Git," said Fred idly.

"He's on our side now," said Hermione reprovingly.

Ron snorted. "Doesn't stop him being a git. The way he looks at us when he sees us."

"Bill doesn't like him, either," said Ginny, as though that settled the matter.

"Is Bill here?" he asked. He knew the Order was big in the past, but still... "I thought he was working in Egypt?"

"He applied for a desk job so he could come home and work for the Order," said Fred. "He says he misses the tombs, but;" he smirked, "there are compensations."

"What d'you mean?"

"Remember old Fleur Delacour?" said George. "She's got a job at Gringotts to eempwve 'er Eeenglish -"

"And Bill's been giving her a lot of private lessons," sniggered Fred.

"Charlie's in the Order, too," said George, "but he's still in Romania. Dumbledore wants as many foreign wizards brought in as possible, so Charlie's trying to make contacts on his days off."

"Couldn't Percy do that?" Harry asked.

The last he had heard, the third Weasley brother was working in the Department of International Magical Co-operation at the Ministry of Magic.

At Harry's words, all the Weasleys and Hermione exchanged darkly significant looks.

"Whatever you do, don't mention Percy in front of Mum and Dad," Ron told Harry in a tense voice.

"Why not?"

"Because every time Percy's name's mentioned, Dad breaks whatever he's holding and Mum starts crying," Fred said.

"It's been awful," said Ginny sadly.

"I think we're well shut of him," said George, with an uncharacteristically ugly look on his face.

"What's happened?" Harry said.

"Percy and Dad had a row," said Fred. "I've never seen Dad row with anyone like that. It's normally Mum who shouts."

"It was the first week back after term ended," said Ron. "We were about to come and join the Order. Percy came home and told us he'd been promoted."

"You're kidding?" said Harry.

"Yeah, we were all surprised," said George, "because Percy got into a load of trouble about Crouch, there was an inquiry and everything. They said Percy ought to have realized Crouch was off his rocker and informed a superior. But you know Percy, Crouch left him in charge, he wasn't going to complain."

"So how come they promoted him?" Harry was hedging his bets on Voldemort.

"That's exactly what we wondered," said Ron. "He came home really pleased with himself - even more pleased than usual, if you can imagine that - and told Dad he'd been offered a position in Fudge's own office. A really good one for someone only a year out of Hogwarts: Junior Assistant to the Minister. He expected Dad to be all impressed, I think."

"Only Dad wasn't," said Fred grimly.

"Why not?" said Harry.

"Well, apparently Fudge has been storming round the Ministry checking that nobody's having any contact with Dumbledore," said George.

"Dumbledore's name is mud with the Ministry these days, see," said Fred. "They all think he's just making trouble saying You-Know-Who's back."

"Dad says Fudge has made it clear that anyone who's in league with Dumbledore can clear out their desks," said George.

"Trouble is, Fudge suspects Dad, he knows he's friendly with Dumbledore, and he's always thought Dad's a bit of a weirdo because of his Muggle obsession."

"But what's that got to do with Percy?" asked Harry, confused.

"I'm coming to that. Dad reckons Fudge only wants Percy in his office because he wants to use him to spy on the family - and Dumbledore."

Harry let out a low whistle.

"Bet Percy loved that."

Ron laughed in a hollow sort of way.

"He went completely berserk. He said - well, he said loads of terrible stuff. He said he's been having to struggle against Dad's lousy reputation ever since he joined the Ministry and that Dad's got no ambition and that's why we've always been - you know - not had a lot of money, I mean -"

But Ron was cut off by the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs.

Fred gave the Extendable Ear a hearty tug; there was another loud crack and he and George vanished. Seconds later, Mrs. Weasley appeared in the bedroom doorway.

"The meeting's over, you can come down and have dinner now. Everyone's dying to see you, Harry."

He hid his groan. _Great._

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__**So not much has happened here. Sorry. But Chapters 2 and 3 will have the action and plot pick up. If you picked up on it, a lot of this chapter came directly from the book. The setting needed to be in place, and why mess with the original?  
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	3. Chapter 2

**Here is chapter two! A little bit more is revealed in the chapter. Harry does not appear to be all that he is! The following chapter has things pick up a bit more.**

**So read, review and enjoy!  
**

**Standard disclaimers apply: I do not own Harry Potter.  
**

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Chapter 2

His days at Grimmauld Place were divided between homework, spying on the Order, and cleaning the filthy house. Harry had gone exploring during his free time (what little of it there was), hunting down the library. There he made as many copies of the books he could. Luckily, very few people even entered to old room. No one was there to catch him and the house gleefully hid the use of his magic.

The house was full of many curious things. Harry's experience of magical homes boiled down to the Burrow. And this house was severely different. Older, and the wards stronger and darker. They clung to him like a second skin. Plus, there was so much history. Harry was surprised that there were no ghosts haunting the halls.

One of the more curious things was the house-elf.

Harry first caught sight of it while they were cleaning a drawing room.

Except for the filthy rag tied like a loincloth around its middle, it was completely naked. It looked very old. Its skin seemed to be several times too big for it and, though it was bald like all house-elves, there was a quantity of white hair growing out of its large, bat like ears. Its eyes were a bloodshot and watery grey and its fleshy nose was large and rather snout like.

The elf took absolutely no notice of Harry and the rest. Acting as though it could not see them, it shuffled hunchbacked, slowly and doggedly, towards the far end of the room, all the while muttering under its breath in a hoarse, deep voice like a bullfrogs.

"… smells like a drain and a criminal to boot, but she's no better, nasty old blood traitor with her brats messing up my mistress's house, oh, my poor mistress, if she knew, if she knew the scum they've let into her house, what would she say to old Kreacher, oh, the shame of it, Mudbloods and werewolves and traitors and thieves, poor old Kreacher, what can he do…"

"Hello, Kreacher," said Fred very loudly, closing the door with a snap.

The house-elf froze in his tracks, stopped muttering, and gave a very pronounced and very unconvincing start of surprise.

"Kreacher did not see young master," he said, turning around and bowing to Fred. Still facing the carpet, he added, perfectly audibly, "Nasty little brat of a blood traitor it is."

"Sorry?" said George. "Didn't catch that last bit."

"Kreacher said nothing," said the elf, with a second bow to George, adding in a clear undertone, "and there's its twin, unnatural little beasts they are."

Harry didn't know whether to laugh or not. The elf straightened up, eyeing them all malevolently, and apparently convinced that they could not hear him as he continued to mutter.

"… and there's the Mudblood, standing there bold as brass, oh, if my mistress knew, oh, how she'd cry, and there's a new boy, Kreacher doesn't know his name. What is he doing here? Kreacher doesn't know…"

"This is Harry, Kreacher," said Hermione tentatively. "Harry Potter."

Kreacher's pale eyes widened and he muttered faster and more furiously than ever.

"The Mudblood is talking to Kreacher as though she is my friend, if Kreacher's mistress saw him in such company, oh, what would she say -"

"Don't call her a Mudblood!" said Ron and Ginny together, very angrily.

"It doesn't matter," Hermione whispered, "he's not in his right mind, he doesn't know what he's -"

"Don't kid yourself, Hermione, he knows exactly what he's saying," said Fred, eyeing Kreacher with great dislike.

Kreacher was still muttering, his eyes on Harry.

"Is it true? Is it Harry Potter? Kreacher can see the scar, it must be true, that's the boy who stopped the Dark Lord, Kreacher wonders how he did it -"

"Don't we all, Kreacher," said Fred.

"What do you want, anyway?" George asked.

Kreacher's huge eyes darted towards George.

Harry let out a silent breath. Unlike the house, the house-elf did not respond to his magic. The house crackled around him in an eerie imitation of laughter.

Of course Grimmauld Place would hide his signature. He sent his gratitude in a little burst, hoping none would notice.

They didn't.

"Kreacher is cleaning," he said evasively.

"A likely story," said a voice behind Harry.

Sirius had entered; he was glowering at the elf from the doorway.

At the sight of Sirius, Kreacher flung himself into a ridiculously low bow that flattened his snout like nose on the floor. Harry cringed internally, hoping that the house's master -who was keyed to the wards and magic- did not sense his communication.

"Stand up straight," said Sirius impatiently. "Now, what are you up to?"

"Kreacher is cleaning," the elf repeated. "Kreacher lives to serve the Noble House of Black -"

"And it's getting blacker every day, it's filthy," said Sirius.

"Master always liked his little joke," said Kreacher, bowing again, and continuing in an undertone, "Master was a nasty ungrateful swine who broke his mother's heart -"

"My mother didn't have a heart, Kreacher," snapped Sirius. "She kept herself alive out of pure spite."

Kreacher bowed again as he spoke.

"Whatever Master says," he muttered furiously. "Master is not fit to wipe slime from his mother's boots, oh, my poor mistress, what would she say if she saw Kreacher serving him, how she hated him, what a disappointment he was -"

"I asked you what you were up to," said Sirius coldly. "Every time you show up pretending to be cleaning, you sneak something off to your room so we can't throw it out."

Once he was sure Sirius was ignorant on the ward situation, Harry watched it all in ill-disguised amusement. The others were watching the exchange with rapt attention. However, if Kreacher was hiding the goodies of the Noble House of Black, Harry was going to pay the house-elf's room a visit later. He had already claimed a few treasures during the cleaning, what was a few more?

"Kreacher would never move anything from its proper place in Master's house," said the elf, then muttered very fast, "Mistress would never forgive Kreacher if the tapestry was thrown out, seven centuries it's been in the family, Kreacher must save it, Kreacher will not let Master and the blood traitors and the brats destroy it -"

"I thought it might be that," said Sirius, casting a disdainful look at the opposite wall. "She'll have put another Permanent Sticking Charm on the back of it, I don't doubt, but if I can get rid of it I certainly will. Now go away, Kreacher."

It seemed that Kreacher did not dare disobey a direct order; nevertheless, the look he gave Sirius as he shuffled out past him was full of deepest loathing and he muttered all the way out of the room.

"- comes back from Azkaban ordering Kreacher around, oh, my poor mistress, what would she say if she saw the house now, scum living in it, her treasures thrown out, she swore he was no son of hers and he's back, they say he's a murderer too -"

"Keep muttering and I will be a murderer!" said Sirius irritably as he slammed the door shut on the elf.

"Sirius, he's not right in the head," Hermione pleaded, "I don't think he realizes we can hear him."

"He's been alone too long," said Sirius, "taking mad orders from my mother's portrait and talking to himself, but he was always a foul little -"

"If you could just set him free," said Hermione hopefully, "maybe -"

"We can't set him free, he knows too much about the Order" said Sirius curtly.

_Or you could cut out his tongue._

Harry pushed the thought aside in a huff of annoyance.

_Not now._

"And anyway, the shock would kill him. You suggest to him that he leaves this house, see how he takes it."

Sirius walked across the room to where the tapestry Kreacher had been trying to protect hung the length of the wall. Harry and the others followed.

The tapestry looked immensely old; it was faded and looked as though Doxys had gnawed it in places. Nevertheless, the golden thread with which it was embroidered still glinted brightly enough to show them a sprawling family tree dating back (as far as Harry could tell) to the Middle Ages. Large words at the very top of the tapestry read:

The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black

Toujours pur

"You're not on here!" said Harry, after scanning the bottom of the tree closely.

_I'm not surprised._

"I used to be there," said Sirius, pointing at a small, round, charred hole in the tapestry, rather like a cigarette burn. "My sweet old mother blasted me off after I ran away from home - Kreacher's quite fond of muttering the story under his breath."

"You ran away from home?"

"When I was about sixteen," said Sirius. "I'd had enough."

"Where did you go?" asked Harry, staring at him.

"Your dad's place," said Sirius. "Your grandparents were really good about it; they sort of adopted me as a second son. Yeah, I camped out at your dad's in the school holidays, and when I was seventeen I got a place of my own. My Uncle Alphard had left me a decent bit of gold - he's been wiped off here, too, that's probably why - anyway, after that I looked after myself. I was always welcome at Mr. and Mrs. Potter's for Sunday lunch, though."

Harry studied the names, and glanced at the place where Alphard was removed. For several names, images of faces and memories that were not quite his rose in his mind. He swallowed and focused on the conversation at hand.

"But… why did you…?"

"Leave?" Sirius smiled bitterly and ran his fingers through his long, unkempt hair. "Because I hated the whole lot of them: my parents, with their pure-blood mania, convinced that to be a Black made you practically royal… my idiot brother, soft enough to believe them… that's him."

Sirius jabbed a finger at the very bottom of the tree, at the name Regulus Black. A date of death (some fifteen years previously) followed the date of birth.

"He was younger than me," said Sirius, "and a much better son, as I was constantly reminded."

"But he died," said Harry.

"Yeah," said Sirius. "Stupid idiot… he joined the Death Eaters."

A faint tingle tickled in the back of his mind. This was new information, and potentially important.

"You're kidding!"

"Come on, Harry, haven't you seen enough of this house to tell what kind of wizards my family were?" said Sirius testily.

_Very interesting wizards._

"Were - were your parents Death Eaters as well?"

"No, no, but believe me, they thought Voldemort had the right idea, they were all for the purification of the wizarding race, getting rid of Muggle-borns and having pure-bloods in charge. They weren't alone, either, there were quite a few people, before Voldemort showed his true colors, who thought he had the right idea about things… they got cold feet when they saw what he was prepared to do to get power, though. But I bet my parents thought Regulus was a right little hero for joining up at first."

"Was he killed by an Auror?" Harry asked tentatively.

"Oh, no," said Sirius. "No, he was murdered by Voldemort. Or on Voldemort's orders, more likely; I doubt Regulus was ever important enough to be killed by Voldemort in person. From what I found out after he died, he got in so far, then panicked about what he was being asked to do and tried to back out. Well, you don't just hand in your resignation to Voldemort. It's a lifetime of service or death."

_I wonder what he did?_

"Lunch," Mrs. Weasley said bearing sandwiches.

The group tucked in, Harry's attention divided with further conversation with Sirius and Regulus Black's betrayal. However, he did not get a chance to dwell on the subject further. Next they began to empty the glass-fronted cabinets that afternoon. Many of the objects in there seemed very reluctant to leave their dusty shelves. Sirius sustained a bad bite from a silver snuffbox; within seconds his bitten hand had developed an unpleasant crusty covering like a tough brown glove.

"It's okay," he said, examining the hand with interest before tapping it lightly with his wand and restoring its skin to normal, "must be Wartcap powder in there."

He threw the box aside into the sack where they were depositing the debris from the cabinets; Harry saw George wrap his own hand carefully in a cloth moments later and sneak the box into his pocket. Harry was glad to see that he wasn't the only one collecting the goodies of the house.

They found an unpleasant-looking silver instrument, something like a many-legged pair of tweezers, which scuttled up Harry's arm like a spider when he picked it up, and attempted to puncture his skin. Sirius seized it and smashed it with a heavy book entitled _Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy_. There was a musical box that emitted a faintly sinister, tinkling tune when wound, and they all found themselves becoming curiously weak and sleepy, until Ginny had the sense to slam the lid shut.

Harry studied each object with curiosity. Most were objects that would provide amusement, but nothing useful.

Then he saw it.

Heavy, gold and encrusted with jewels, it was unmistakable. He had seen it every time he was in the Chamber. Harry knew what it was, but he kept his features schooled as he took a hand at it. No one had been able to open it (with obvious reasons), but he attempted to, following the others.

Upon contact, the locket gave a faint buzz up his arm.

_Shit. How the hell did _this_ end up in Grimmauld Place?_

While the others returned to the cabinets, Harry shoved it in his pocket.

_Regulus._

The thought came suddenly. Yet it all made sense. He was a Death Eater and personally killed by Voldemort. The man obviously did not know that Black had snatched it, or Voldemort would have torn the world apart to keep this safe. Still... If Regulus was unhappy with his Lord and Master, why not take this?

"You okay Harry?" Ron asked, drawing his attention back to the task.

"Sure. Just worried about the hearing."

"Everything will go alright."

Harry nodded.

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**AN:** **Yeah, these past two chapters do have a lot directly from the book. **

**Next chapter will have a Sirius POV, and Harry at the Ministry!  
**


	4. Chapter 3

**So here is chapter 3! Finally. The POV shifts to Sirius and Harry begins to act a bit more curious. AS always, standard disclaimers apply.**

**Enjoy!  
**

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Chapter 3

Sirius stood outside of the sitting room, hand on the doorknob. As dearly as he wanted to, he could not bring himself up to opening the door and facing his godson. It was selfish, sure, avoiding the boy so soon before the hearing. He could not help the fact that he wanted Harry to stay with him. He could not help the fact that he desired the company of the last link to his best friend.

He and Harry had never really spoken that much. Sure there was third year, when they first met. Most of their conversation was persuading the group of his innocence. Then during fourth year, there were the chats in the cave and through the fireplace, and numerous letters. Now he had his godson in the same house, and they never were alone together. All due to his own stubborn fears.

But Merlin's Beard, he was a Gryffindor! He had lived through Azkaban. Facing his godson should not fill him with such dread.

It did.

There was just something strange about Harry. A glint in his eyes, a sliver of darkness in his magic, an aura of hidden power. It made him queasy.

Sirius could tell Remus felt similarly.

The werewolf watched Harry closely. There was a tenseness behind amber eyes that Sirius only saw when his old friend felt threatened.

Yet none of Harry's friends seemed that anything was amiss. The Weasleys and Hermione all treated Harry with the care and devotion that they always had. They did not have the tremor of unease when the Boy-Who-Lived was around.

Bucking up the courage, he opened the door and slid into the room.

It was one of the cleaner areas of the house. Gas lamps and candles lit up the old place. Harry was curled up in a faded armchair he had pushed next to a window, allowing the natural light to illuminate his work. On his knees was a black book that he was scribbling in while a black pen was held in his right hand.

The teen's expression was blank, cold, save for the intense focus of green eyes. There was a light there that showed his utter attention on the task at hand. He did not even react to Sirius's presence.

Godfather stood, watching godson for several long moments until he could take the silence no longer.

"Hey, Harry."

His reaction was almost violent. Harry quickly replaced the pen with his wand and shut the book with a SLAM.

A sheepish expression formed on his face when he noticed it was Sirius.

"Sorry. You startled me," Harry apologized. Wand became a capped pen, and the book was replaced to his lap.

"My fault. I didn't mean to scare you. May I join you?" he asked hesitantly, gesturing to a nearby chair.

Harry nodded and Sirius sat down.

"So," he began awkwardly. "What are you writing?"

The teen glanced at the shut leather bound book, sliding it a little closer to his body. "S'my diary, kinda. Ideas, thoughts, quotes and spells that I like."

Sirius nodded.

"The Marauders, we all had something like that. Though they were mostly filled with prank ideas. Of course your father's was also devoted to your mother. He loved her."

There was tightness around Harry's eyes at the mention of James. Sirius feared that the teen would cry, but instead he looked just uncomfortable.

"May I look in yours?"

Harry gave him a cool look. "I'd rather you didn't."

"Sorry."

"S'okay. Just private and all."

"I understand. Look, I'm sorry that we haven't really spoken since you arrived and tomorrow's your hearing and all. I should have been there. You must be worried."

A soft smile formed on Harry's lips.

"Mrs. Weasley's been keeping me busy with cleaning this place. Plus Hermione and homework and any free time I have the twins and Ron drag me into their schemes. Or chess." He added. "This is honestly the first moment I've had to myself."

Sirius suddenly felt horrible. He was encroaching in the teen's alone time!

"Ah. I apologize. I did not realize that."

Harry shrugged.

"You didn't know. Actually, I'm glad you're here. I wanted to ask you something."

"I can't answer anything about the Order. Dumbledore, you know."

It was ridiculous, keeping the boy out of his own fate. Harry needed to know about the prophecy. Keeping him out of the light was bad news. Dumbledore's decision would come and bite him in the arse.

"Well, no. It's about Dumbledore."

Sirius raised an eyebrow.

"What about him?"

Harry just sighed.

"He doesn't speak to me. He leaves as soon as a meeting is over! Heck, when I ran into him once, the man wouldn't-"

The teen trailed off and turned his attention back at his book.

"Harry?"

"Just a moment," he murmured, opening the book and rifling through the pages. He apparently found what he was looking for, stopping on one page. Eyebrows drew together as he read.

"What?" Sirius asked, curious.

His intrigue was replaced with surprise by the look on Harry's face.

There were traces of anger and disbelief that slowly resolved into calculating determination on the boy's face. That uneasy feeling that Sirius received around Harry swept over him. He was so startled that he was unable to speak. Grey eyes simply stared at the boy in front of him.

Harry was powerful.

Sirius had always known, but now, feeling his godson's magic swirl around him, brought it all into picture.

The magic was not the burning, shining Light of Dumbledore. Nor was it choking darkness. There were traces of black and white and grey. Yet the majority of it all was power. As quickly as it appeared, the broadcasting stopped.

Harry's expression cooled as he stood suddenly.

"Sorry, Sirius. I have to go." The boy picked up his things and exited the room without a backward glance.

* * *

Harry was pissed.

Well, more like beyond pissed but not quite at the level where he was going to murder someone. However, if he did, he was debating between killing Fudge or Dumbledore. It was a bit of a toss up between the two.

The former was out for his blood. The blasted minister had the time of his hearing change and now he and Mr. Weasley were rushing down to Level Nine. There was also the libel printed on the _Daily Prophet_.

The latter however hid a prophecy from him. Not just any prophecy, but The Prophecy. It was the one that gave the reason for Voldemort's attack. The Headmaster knew, from the very beginning, and lied to him several times. Harry vividly remembered inquiring as to the reason why Voldemort attacked him, and the old coot lied!

Harry should not have been all that surprised. The man was avoiding the younger wizard like Dragon Pox.

So as he waited in the lift, Harry's attention was divided between the ridiculous hearing and attempting to sneak away from Mr. Weasley for long enough to get The Prophecy.

He didn't need this. Not now.

Finally the lift stopped.

"Department of Mysteries," said the cool female voice, and left it at that.

"Quick, Harry," said Mr. Weasley as the lift doors rattled open, and they sped up a corridor that was quite different from those above. The walls were bare; there were no windows and no doors apart from a plain black one set at the very end of the corridor.

He needed to get to that door.

_Damn you, Fudge!_

Mr. Weasley led him down a flight of stairs, gasping all the way. Finally they reached the courtroom,

Mr. Weasley stumbled to a halt outside a grimy dark door with an immense iron lock and slumped against the wall, clutching at a stitch in his chest.

"Go on," he panted, pointing his thumb at the door. "Get in there."

"Aren't - aren't you coming with -"

"No, no, I'm not allowed. Good luck!"

Harry's heart was beating a violent tattoo against his Adam's apple. He swallowed hard, turned the heavy iron door handle and stepped inside the courtroom.

* * *

It was over. And he got off.

_Thank, Merlin!_

Harry turned to speak with Dumbledore, but the wizard was already exiting the room.

_What. The. Hell? The man swoops in to save me, and then rushes away! This is getting ridiculous._

Shooting a glare at the back of the wizard, he stood up and walked towards the door. No one called him back thankfully.

Now all he had to do was get into the Department of Mysteries.

He wrenched open the door and almost collided with Mr. Weasley, who was standing right outside, looking pale and apprehensive.

"Dumbledore didn't say -"

"Cleared," Harry said, pulling the door closed behind him, "of all charges!"

Beaming, Mr. Weasley seized Harry by the shoulders.

"Harry, that's wonderful! Well, of course, they couldn't have found you guilty, not on the evidence, but even so, I can't pretend I wasn't -"

But Mr. Weasley broke off, because the courtroom door had just opened again. The Wizengamot were filing out.

"Merlin's beard!" exclaimed Mr. Weasley wonderingly, pulling Harry aside to let them all pass.

"You were tried by the full court?"

"I think so," said Harry quietly. He really needed to get away.

One or two of the wizards nodded to Harry as they passed and a few, including Madam Bones, said, "Morning, Arthur," to Mr. Weasley, but most averted their eyes. Cornelius Fudge and the toadlike witch were almost the last to leave the dungeon. Fudge acted as though Mr. Weasley and Harry were part of the wall, but again, the witch looked almost appraisingly at Harry as she passed. Last of all to pass was Percy. Like Fudge, he completely ignored his father and Harry; he marched past clutching a large roll of parchment and a handful of spare quills, his back rigid and his nose in the air. The lines around Mr. Weasley's mouth tightened slightly, but other than this he gave no sign that he had seen his third son.

"I'm going to take you straight back so you can tell the others the good news," he said, beckoning Harry forwards as Percy's heels disappeared up the steps to Level Nine. "I'll drop you off on the way to that toilet in Bethnal Green. Come on…"

"So, what will you have to do about the toilet?" Harry asked, hoping to distract the man.

"Oh, it's a simple enough anti-jinx," said Mr. Weasley as they mounted the stairs, "but it's not so much having to repair the damage, it's more the attitude behind the vandalism, Harry. Muggle baiting might strike some wizards as funny, but it's an expression of something much deeper and nastier, and I for one -"

Mr. Weasley broke off in mid-sentence. They had just reached the ninth-level corridor and Cornelius Fudge was standing a few feet away from them, talking quietly to a tall man with sleek blond hair and a pointed, pale face.

The second man turned at the sound of their footsteps. He, too, broke off in mid-conversation, his cold grey eyes narrowed and fixed upon Harry's face.

"Well, well, well… Patronus Potter," said Lucius Malfoy coolly.

Harry held back a laugh at the sight of the man.

_Oh, Malfoy, you do not threaten me. You are no match._

The Minister gave a nod to Malfoy then walked off.

Mr. Weasley's back straightened.

"Harry, I need to have a word with Mr. Malfoy..." he said in a very cool voice.

Harry wanted to shout with joy. Finally, he could escape. Merlin really did love him!

"I'll just wait by the lift," he offered, feet already itching to go.

Mr. Weasley and Malfoy were paying no attention to him. He hid his grin, and headed towards the black door. Quickly he cast a few charms to insure that he would not be noticed. Once he was out of sight, he broke into a dead run.

* * *

The orb was safely in his pocket as a triumphant Harry left the Department of Mysteries. He had gotten it, and made a quick copy, placing the imitation where the real orb had rested.

He turned the corner to still see Mr. Weasley and Malfoy in a heated discussion. Harry grinned and resisted the urge to dance.

He wasn't caught!

Never had he been more thankful for the blood-feud between the Malfoys and the Weasleys. Beaming at his double successes, Harry skipped over to the lift, content to wait for Mr. Weasley, even if it took all day.

* * *

**I know, a wee bit confusing. But things shall be explained more and more in two, three chapters tops.**  
** And thank you for all of the favorites, follows and reviews. I hope you liked this chapter.  
**


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